The Importance of Faith
by cathymalfoy
Summary: Ginny finds herself deteriorating emotionally while Harry is away hunting for Horcruxes. She ponders and searches far and wide to find the strength she so badly needs, but she may just find what she seeks if she pauses to listen to her heart.
1. Dreams

_Why did you let him go, Ginny? Chances are that he will never come back. Yes. You know he would be willing to die if it meant we would all be safe. You know he tends to wear his heart on his sleeve. He may be noble and kind, but those things can be forced out of any good man if they are required of him. He had been born to be a hero, and he was meant to live the life of a hero. But he's not perfect. He has taunted death so many times. Fate will not always be so kind to him. Things don't always go his way, do they? Maybe this time he won't be so fortunate. _

* * *

There was a flash of brightest green light, a blinding explosion of emerald in which a skinny dark figure flew back, his body limp and lifeless. All the light and color in the world seemed to cease existing as the figure crashed to the ground, broken and thoroughly defeated. An expression of fearful, yet determined defiance was still etched upon his face, though the warmth of his body was quickly fading into a frigid indifference. As all the familiarity and energy that he had possessed in life left his body, the last inkling of hope in the world seemed to give way to merciless chaos and hopeless terror. In the background, a triumphantly malevolent laugh echoed in the dim light. Now that all hope was lost, the sound sent shivering chills down her spine, causing her to cower instinctively.

Now, the owner of the pitiless laugh turned his wand on her. There was nowhere to run, no way to avoid the pain that fate had doled out to her. If she managed to figure out a way to escape, the misery would follow her. Without the Chosen One, discord and grief would reign unchecked. There was no way to leave it all behind, even if she tried to run. Like the man she loved, the hands of destiny had overpowered her. And, like many who had died for the same cause, she only had one last choice to make: whether she would be dragged into the arena, or she would walk in with her head held high. To truly honor the last few moments, she refused to beg. She would die, but with proper courage and dignity. Death would be the most inviting in a time of ultimate darkness, but she refused to depart as a coward.

She heard the words that had snatched so many out of the living realm, those hated, feared, despised, yet extremely powerful syllables. The last living moments of a victim, or martyr (however she would be remembered), passed surprisingly slowly. Unlike when she had been forced to witness the death of her beloved, the dreaded emerald radiance did not create a split second of complete agony. As the green light hit her chest, she felt her magical core dim. It seemed to take an eternity. It was near-blissful oblivion, yet she seemed to be screaming with all she had left. Perhaps the coward in her finally emerged, but there was no pain, no pain to be felt. She could almost see her soul escaping its earthly bounds. It was a strangely groggy experience, as if her life had just been one long dream, and her body was waking up.

It seemed her voice was the last to go. Her scream did not grow softer as she felt the whole scene fading away. Someone was shaking her. Her face was wet with tears. But she did not stop screaming, only taking pauses to catch her breath. The shaking grew firmer, yet not anymore violent. She felt her body shivering. So this was death…. so the oblivion that everyone talks about was only temporary…but there must be more….there must be more than this…

"Ginny! Miss Weasley, wake up!! GINNY!"

Ginny opened her eyes. Bright light flashed in her eyes. She blinked in the sunlight of a Saturday morning. It was all very confusing. Why were all these people standing over her? What had really happened?

"Miss Weasley! Are you all right? Miss Patil heard you screaming and crying in your sleep again. What happened?"

"Mmmm…?"

"Miss Weasley, if you're not physically ill, I beg you to wake up!!"

The dizziness faded away as realization flooded her mind. It was another dream, another terrible, horrific dream. Since Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left to kill Lord Voldemort, she had never ceased to be tormented by worry. Harry was talented, and he had the help of his two best friends. But it seemed to be an impossible mission. They were barely of age. They hadn't even finished school properly. He had brushed off the offers of all the Order members who tried to help. Dumbledore had made two grave mistakes in the last year of his life, one of which led to his own death. The second of which would lead to Harry's death, sooner or later.

Her dreams were not without reason. Hermione had been her best friend, the girl who understood her best. Ron was her older brother. Harry…well, Harry had might as well be another brother.

She had been deeply shaken when Harry had nearly died saving her life five years ago. In the Department of Mysteries, she once again witnessed him putting his life on the line. It broke her heart when he had point blank refused to court her, when she had spent so much energy into caring for him. It was a disappointment, that when he finally noticed her and let her into his heart, she was flatly informed she had no place there. The one man all her love had always channeled toward had selflessly decided to close his heart to personal relationships.

Perhaps it was for the good of the Wizarding society and the Muggle society, but, either way, there was a cost. Despite the fact that she was insignificant in the scheme of things, the amount of heartbreak he would cause if he died for them all would be astounding. In his life, he had touched so many lives, did kind deeds for so many people. Yes, he would be remembered in history as a martyr, a hero who laid down his life. A Wizarding Jesus. But Harry was not, and would not, be a god. He was a mortal, a pig born for the sole purpose to be slaughtered for the good of society. He would not be given any special privileges in death. All life ended at the same place. There were men who tried to befriend death and avoid it. There were men who were defiant of death and refused to be overpowered by it. There were men who fought death. But in the end, they all died. It was one of the few aspects of reality that never generated doubt from anyone. It was inevitable. It was the only thing one could be sure of in one's mortal existence.

And Harry would die too. His death was unavoidable, just like all other deaths, but his death brought the death of so many other things. It would mean the end of her longings and dreams. Perhaps this would be a good thing, as her feelings for him had become a heavy burden. But they also meant the birth of a more destructive concept. Surely, she would grieve and mourn him. Since he had first realized his feelings for her, and her yearning for him, she had vowed to commit herself to no other. She had insisted there was no man like him, so she would settle for nothing less than the real thing.

Although Harry was just another teenager, just as defiant, often narrow-minded, and stubborn as any other teenager, he was…different. The captured attention of no other man could be so exhilarating, yet give her such a genuine sense of absolute contentment. He was not the mystery male that the girls at school continually chattered about, yet knew nothing of. He was not the happy-go-lucky boy next door who always seemed to be exactly the same, and never experienced anything life-changing. Harry was so much more to her. And this was why it affected her so much, now that she could know for sure if he was alive or dead. She could not confirm whether he was within an inch of his life or in excruciating pain at the hands of a sinister foe. Her devoted concern had mutated into the horrors of her dreams.

Deep in her heart, she was positive that, just like there was hope within the darkest of storm clouds, her predicament had a silver lining. If she had not yet decided to explore the castle and search for an escape from her prison to confirm or disprove her suspicions, there was bound to be something restraining her. There was a moral that nailed her down, that signified she had yet to go mad with desire and defiance. There was some invisible, yet prominent force that overpowered all the negativity within her. A force that, until now, had been losing in her internal battle, but now gained the upper hand.

As her muddled thoughts cleared up, the victor of the fierce combat occurring within the depths of her mind declared itself. Her subconscious faith had kept her impulses in check. Without her full knowledge of its presence, her faith had single-handedly prevented her uncertainties from getting the best of her. Though she feared for him, she had absolute faith in Harry. And this faith had carried her far, or at least they cancelled out the seemingly impenetrable gloom that incessantly threatened to take over her being. Her faith and trust had made sure she would take a step in the right direction, if not keeping her stationary when she was tempted to take a step across the thin line that distinguished sanity from insanity.

In these times of despair, the strength of character that dwelled inside of her had instinctively showed up when needed most, knowing that life would depart with the absence of hope. If she had been left to her own devices, there would be a possibility of a loss of individuality and purpose. In her idleness, she would be vulnerable to more than depression, but to the practical and wise forces of nature. Without individuality and purpose, she would be a useless cog in the machine of human society; a defective part that demanded and required swift removal so its machine would continue to function properly.

Faith and confidence had revealed a new side of her. Now that she realized she was not completely lost in her emotions, she felt all her worries instantly lift off of her shoulders. It had been ridiculous of her to mentally insist that Harry, the man she would willingly trust with her very own life without a second thought, would leave her behind to grieve before the appropriate time came. She had never doubted his abilities. It was healthy to be concerned for his safety, but she would need to foster her confidence in his abilities if she truly loved him.

The discovery of her faith seemed to be a good start, even if it didn't mean the instant disappearance of her insecurities. That would take a longer time to correct, but there was already a sense of accomplishment in knowing of her progress, no matter how minor it had been. Though was nothing more an inkling of optimism in a mess of confusion and panic, it made all the difference in the world to her, and she vowed to cling to it and expand on it.

Her eyes now fully adjusted to the brightness of her dorm, she spoke with newly found self-esteem and reassurance.

"Yes, Professor. It was just a silly dream, nothing more severe. I promise it won't happen again. Hopefully it didn't keep you awake all night. We all need our good night's sleep in these difficult times, right?"


	2. Small Steps

"Well, I'll try to take your word for it, Ginny. But I'm truly concerned for you. If you need talk, you know I'll always be here." Minerva McGonagall still did not look convinced in the least.

"Yes, Professor. I will."

"Then I hope you have a good day. Hopefully we won't see anything worrying in the paper. Tragedy seems to have become an aspect of life."

"Same to you, Professor. I'll see you in the Great Hall for breakfast."

The good Professor nodded, and swept off out of the dorm, her rich burgundy robes billowing behind her. One by one, her already-dressed roommates headed downstairs, leaving her, still decked in a pair of wrinkled pajamas, sitting on the bed. She sighed. Life would have to continue without Harry while he was gone. Things would be back to normal when he returned.

But yet…she sensed that he was watching over her. Not quite from heaven or the realm of the dead, but that he was close by. He would be disappointed if he saw her so broken. He had always loved her ever-present strength. She had rarely leaked a tear, and she suspected he loved her for that too. Or why would he have felt so awkward with Cho? Yes. That was it. She felt his presence, even if he was not in view. He could probably sense her every emotion, her every move. He would not have wanted to her collapse under darkness. There were better things to give one's soul to. Better things to sacrifice one's health to than fear and pessimism. He had always told her to live life with passion and spirit. And she always listened. Perhaps the death of his parents and so many people around him had given him no choice to but to live every moment to the fullest.

And he would be ashamed if she knew she gave up her happiness for him. He seemed to love her most when she did the three main things that made any sort of life worth living. He loved to see her live, laugh, and, most of all, love. Unlike all the other boys she had dated, Harry's eyes, which so resembled the color of a lively stream in a wood, seemed to gently pierce right through her skin and see everything that made him smile uncontrollably whenever he was anywhere near her. He had once claimed that her sepia eyes possessed an especially animated flame that seemed to dance when she laughed her carefree, melodic laugh.

If only he could see her now. Though she continued to fight for Dumbledore's Army and resist, she knew it would all be forgotten if none of the combat in this war was ever brought to Hogwarts. It seemed that all activities at Hogwarts were in a state of stalemate. The students could be as defiant as they wanted, but the teachers would not back down. They simply advanced, using their tools of punishment in an attempt to subdue the children of mixed blood parentage that they seemed to loathe so much.

It was all very petty. It was nothing more than a mass of disobedient students. Their defiance had the prominence of a friendly arm wrestling match during a World War, like the ones the Muggles had fought twice already. Perhaps they would get a half a page in Hogwarts, A History after they were long dead. And they would be noted for defiance and for their loyalty to the force of Good. But it was a pathetic incentive compared to the price they were paying.

She was sure the flame that Harry saw in her muddy eyes had long extinguished. It had no place in a world in which everything seemed to be black and white, power and weakness, triumph and humiliation. Her melodic laugh was now toneless and laced with signs of the burden she had inflicted on herself. And he would regret that he had ever wasted his time with her. She needed to change. Faith had already lighted a new flame within her. It just took a little kindling and stoking to bring back its former power and glory. The miniscule candles that Harry had seen in her would return.

She made a promise to herself to take better care of her emotional health and live with purpose and ambition. She was here for a reason. Her mother had raised her to be a strong-willed woman for a reason. She had been conditioned to withstand times when all hope seemed to be lost. She had been nurtured to be fierce and proud of her self-image, to be a source of comfort to those who needed, to be a beacon of ever-present light when darkness tenaciously surrounded them all.

Today would be a brand new day. Today was a perfect opportunity for her to get up, brush herself off, and keep going with new enthusiasm. Every obstacle would be another challenge, anything but a hindrance. Her previous depression was just a seldom-used mask in the play of life. It was just another role that she no longer wanted, one big masquerade that she was ready to leave behind. She needed to be her happy, cheerful self again. She needed to be the girl who could see the world as a fair place. Everyone around her simply found it unfair because they had no control of their lives and could not help but to get confused. No one could take the blame for their bewilderment, so, as a last resort, life itself was blamed for all the troubles they thrust upon themselves.

Life was perfectly fair. Those who took more than they gave got their fair share of misery. Those who never complained would hardly ever get anything to complain about. Those who worked hard got their fair share of luck, while those who leeched off the efforts of others were least favored by fortune. She was lucky to be alive, fortunate to be faced only with petty disobedience when people were dying by the thousands where the real warfare occurred.

The day passed surprisingly quickly with her new attitude toward the world. She couldn't even manage to escape into the world of dreams and slumber during History of Magic. She had never seemed to realize how exciting the enforcement of Wizarding law could be. In her eagerness, she didn't even notice that everyone in the class had lost focus within the first five minutes.

"Ginny! Earth to Ginny! Anyone there?"

Apparently, she had not drifted off into sleep, but into the expansive depths of her own mind.

"Ginny!!!"

"Oh, hi, Neville."

Neville rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Now you notice! I've been trying to talk to you for the past half an hour!"

"Have you?

"Yes, Ginny. If you remain this way any longer, Luna and her father will only be the second most dreamy people on this planet."

"Well, I'm back now. What were telling me?"

"Only my innermost thoughts and darkest secrets."

"Right. Have you told anyone else?"

"Well, Luna knows some of it, though I'm afraid to tell it all to one person."

"And who else did you tell?"

"While you and Luna were off exploring some wacky alternate universe where Crumple-horned Snorkacks actually exist, I've made a little small talk with Hannah Abbott."

Seamus Finnigan walked by. "I'm afraid that's an extreme understatement, Ginny. Me mate Terry said he saw her snoggin' the livin' daylights out of Neville up in the Astronomy Tower last night."

"I'm afraid _that_ would be an extreme overstatement. We were both doing our star charts, and somehow our lips happened to brush." Neville turned pink.

"Then explain why you smell like perfume."

Ginny couldn't tell what was redder: her hair, or Neville's face. "That's from the plant that I was pruning earlier this morning."

"Don't tell me the Venomous Tentacula smells like a field o' pansies, now."

"Well…it's…going through puberty. Yeah. It liked biting things when it was teething, and now it smells like flowers because its hormones are out of control. Which was why I was pruning it in the first place. So it doesn't start doing anything more dangerous. Not that we've never seen it doing anything dangerous before, but he did try to strangle a first year last week. Which is why I should prune it more often from now on."

Before Seamus could retort, Ginny decided she should settle the matter.

"Well, I'm happy for you, Neville. You of all people deserve happiness at a time like this."

Neville looked relieved. "Thanks, Ginny."

Ginny turned to Seamus. "So enough about Neville. How's your love life?"

Seamus looked sheepish, mumbled something about having to study for an exam, and then departed as swiftly as he had arrived.

Ginny, giggling to herself, looked back to Neville.

"So what about your deepest darkest thoughts?"

"Sometimes I feel like we'll never win this war. I mean, even within the good side, there are so many disagreements. And no one knows what to do. There have been so many big mistakes, so many deaths. And Voldemort hasn't even revealed himself yet. His henchmen are still doing all the work. He has the upper hand. We're forced to move in the open. Maybe he will bide his time, waiting for us to kill ourselves before he moves so much as a finger."

"Things will get better. Small steps, Neville, small steps are the best way to truly accomplish the most demanding tasks."


End file.
